Sunset Park (7 page)

And if I went over there to wait for him, I’d look like I was doing the same.

My unscheduled visit now seemed like a stupid idea.

Suddenly apprehensive of my appearance, I snagged a spot on a nearby bench and tried not to pay too much attention to the courts. It was nigh impossible. Every time I heard the stupid
thunk
of the ball, my eyes drew back to Raymond. As much as he and Michael resembled each other, there were significant differences I had obsessively catalogued since first meeting Raymond. While both brothers were in amazing shape, Raymond was leaner, his hair was a little lighter—I liked to imagine it was because he spent so much time in the sun—and his features a little more delicate, even if he spent a large percentage of his life trying to look as mean as possible.

And then there were the tattoos. I had spent an entire happy hour describing each one to Karen—the
yo soy boricua
tattoo with the Puerto Rican flag draped over the figure of a Taino warrior, the word
fearless
on the inside of his bicep, a memorial tattoo for his mother, an intricately drawn skull with the words
memento mori
etched into it, and Spanish words written along his side that translated to
exhale the past
.

I could probably draw those tattoos from memory alone. I brought the jokes on myself. I really did.

Shifting on the bench, I tried to think of something to do, but there was nothing. I didn’t smoke, hadn’t brought my Kindle along, and my phone was on its last leg of battery life. All I could do was watch groups of children chase each other, or alternate between watching the handball court and a boring soccer game going on nearby.

I drew a couple of curious stares from people walking through the line of benches, but no one seemed too interested in what I was doing, no matter my blond whiteness. With the way Raymond acted, you’d think people would have chased me out of the park. I’d always suspected his reluctance to bring me around was more his issue than anyone else’s. It was the only reason I was wasting my damned time loitering on a bench instead of walking over and tapping him on the shoulder.

After nearly twenty minutes of rethinking my life choices, the jingle of a Mister Softee ice cream truck sounded, and a good chunk of the crowd scampered to the opposite end of the park. Including some of the adults.

I finally made my way to the gate.

Raymond’s back was to me as he stood in the middle of the court gathering the straying strands of his hair, but the guy next to him noticed me right away. He was a little taller than me, stocky but solid-looking, and had a baby face that was ruined by the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“You, uh… wanna play a game?” He grinned, flashing dimples.

“Nope. Handball isn’t my area of expertise.”

For a second, Raymond went still, but then he finished tying back his hair as if he hadn’t recognized my voice. I scowled.

“So… do you want a cigarette or something?”

“I’m friends with your friend.”

It was a stupid thing to say. But how was I supposed to explain myself? I didn’t even know if Raymond had told any of his friends that I existed, let alone that we would be living together for the foreseeable future. The guy glanced at Raymond, returned his gaze to me, then shot Raymond a slick smile.

“Hey, Ray, I didn’t know you liked that sweet stuff.”

So. Original.

I opened my mouth to say something bitchy, but the words died in my throat before I could unleash the full extent of my vitriol. Raymond was giving his buddy such a malignant stare that I was sure he was about to cock back his fist and break the guy’s jaw.

“What the fuck did you say?”

The guy didn’t stop smiling, but his mouth wilted. “Who’s your friend?”

Raymond just kept staring at him, all bad attitude and murderous intent, making me increasingly nervous the longer his angry silence lasted. His friend picked up on the imminent doom and raised his hands in surrender.

“Damn, I’m sorry! Get a sense of humor.”

“Get better jokes, or you’re going to find yourself on the wrong side of my fist.”

“Okaaay!” I ambled up and stuck my hand in the annoying guy’s face. “Hi, I’m David.”

He shook it gingerly, maybe wondering if it would get him in trouble. “Chris. This touchy asshole’s best friend. I was just joking, man.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” I forced a grin and nudged Raymond’s arm. “I am sweet, but unfortunately not Raymond’s flavor. Trust me—I already tried.” Raymond switched his stare from Chris to me. At least this time he looked like he was willing me to shut up rather than to die on the spot. “I also work with his brother.”

“Oh, you’re that guy. Yeah, yeah, I know about you.” Chris sized me up again. “He didn’t mention you’re—” He faltered when the hate stare landed on him again. “—blond.”

This was getting comical. The poor bastard.

“My family is embarrassingly Anglo. Raymond knows I have a serious case of melanin envy.”

Chris’s laugh was more genuine this time. “Raymond doesn’t bring up shit, so don’t feel too bad. I didn’t even know about his girl.”

“Girl?” I cocked a brow at Raymond. “What girl?”

“She wasn’t ever my girl,” Raymond replied. “This fucker has no clue what he’s talking about, as usual.”

“Yo, you and Crystal have been hooking up—”

“Ohhh, Crystal.” I knew about Crystal. His regular hookup. Nothing serious, or so he had said….

“—for years, and all of a sudden she rocks up to Nelson’s crib with some cop guy. I was, like, what the hell? I thought you was bringing Ray to the party?”

Raymond grabbed the ball and bounced it against the concrete. The muscles in his arm flexed each time it slapped against his palm.

“I didn’t know they’d been hanging out for years,” I said.

“Yup. Off and on since we was in high school. I thought for sure they’d get married or he’d knock her up or something.”

“Well, as Beyoncé said,” I started, “he should have put a ring on it.”

“Raymond can’t afford no ring.”

The bouncing stopped. Raymond grabbed Chris’s shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the entrance. “Why don’t you go get yourself a fucking ice cream cone?”

“Hey, good idea!” Chris grinned again, wider and more mischievous than before. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. “You want anything, David?”

“¡Vete, pendejo!” Raymond gave Chris a harsher shove. He glared at his friend’s back until Chris sauntered off toward the ice cream truck. Raymond picked up a sleeveless jersey from the ground, yanked it over his head, and indicated for me to follow him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Raymond led me in the opposite direction Chris had gone. “Congrats. You surprised me.”

“I’m
so
sorry. I didn’t know my presence was offensive. I tried to un-gay myself for you and everything!”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Un-gay.” Raymond reached out to tug one of the belt loops in my skinny jeans, illustrating how poor my effort had been. “You and your Beyoncé quotes.”

He had a point.

“Fine. I’m sorry I showed up. I know you don’t want me around your friends.”

Raymond kept walking, and I wondered what the big deal was. I’d basically outed myself to Chris, and the guy hadn’t batted an eyelash. Unless he’d thought I was just going along with the joke. Besides, if these people had grown up with Raymond, they’d also grown up with Michael. I didn’t understand why Raymond would be ashamed of an openly gay roommate when he’d grown up with a gay older brother. I added it to my list of to-be-solved Raymond mysteries and told myself not to get hung up on it, but my spirits sank anyway. I’d begged him for months to meet
my
friends, and he couldn’t even bear the idea of me exchanging a few words with one of his.

I kept my eyes on my shoes, strongly debated going back home alone, and wondered why I hadn’t seen this coming before blissfully hopping on the train. I was so busy moping that I kept moodily examining my shabby shoes when he stopped walking for a moment. He was probably trying to find the quickest and most deserted route out of the park and to his house so nobody else would see me.

“Here.”

I looked up to find a small paper cup full of shaved ice shoved in my face.

“Take it, motherfucker.”

“Oh! Sorry.” I took the cup and glanced at the vendor. He was scraping away at a block of ice for Raymond’s cup.

I was basic enough to allow a mouthful of coconut-and-cherry-flavored ice to chase away my sorrows. If Raymond was ashamed of me, he wouldn’t be buying me piraguas, would he?

“I love these.”

“I know.” Raymond gave the vendor three bucks and started walking again. “And they don’t have them near where you live now.”

“Maybe in Sunset,” I said.

“Doubt it. You’re more likely to find a churro vendor over there.”

“That’s true.”

I followed him to one of the park’s few gazebos—a construction in serious need of sprucing up but still a welcome relief from the burning sun. We settled on the scarred, wooden floor. He leaned against the wall and finished his ice, looking at me without voicing his thoughts. He did it a lot. Kept all of his opinions and thoughts to himself unless it was absolutely necessary to divulge them. Or unless it was rude, and he felt like being an ass.

Raymond was one of those people who held direct eye contact for long periods of time without the barest hint of discomfort. It had unnerved me at first, but now I liked it. Even if his silent staring encouraged the whisper in my head that insisted this felt a little bit like adolescent courtship. Buying me ices in the park and then taking me somewhere private—how sweet. Unfortunately the locale likely had more to do with him wanting to hide me from his friends than anything else.

“Are you that embarrassed of me, Raymond?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are we hiding in this gazebo?”

He licked a stray drip of red syrup from his index finger. “Because I want to sit in the shade, you idiot.”

“I think you’re a liar. You’re embarrassed that I showed up because I’m so blond and gay.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know you were a psychic.” Raymond threw his balled-up cup at my face. “All I asked is why you’re here. No need to get dramatic like a teenage boy with a Linkin Park CD.”

“You also gave me the death glare of doom. You wouldn’t even let me talk to your friend!”

“Because he kept talking shit about me and Crystal.”

I finished my ice, doing more licking than biting since he was dead set on watching me the entire time. The way his eyes followed the path of my tongue reminded me of our conversation in the new apartment. The one where Raymond had admitted to being curious before proving it with filthy, rough-trade porn.
Bi
-curious. The very notion was so far-fetched that I kept telling myself it had to be an elaborate practical joke. But it wasn’t. I could tell by the way his body had reacted to the video, and even now—the way he watched me so openly, not caring how it came off or what I thought about his attention. Either he was curious about what else a guy could do with his tongue, or he was just hard up.

“So…,” I drawled, “are you bent out of shape over that Crystal girl?”

Raymond snorted. “No.”

“Are you sure? You’re in a
mood
.”

“Nothing to be upset over. We had a good thing for what it was.”

I waited for him to elaborate and gestured broadly when he didn’t. “And what sort of thing was that?”

Raymond tilted his head against the wall. “I had the good weed, she did all the talking, I had the video games, and she sucked my dick after I spent an hour making her come.”

“An
hour
?”

His lips curled in a dirty smile. “Women can come all night. And I’m good with my fingers.”

I knew the tone and the lowered pitch of his voice wasn’t meant for me, but my dick didn’t care. It twitched and hardened when Raymond wet his lower lip. I followed the movement, transfixed by the sheen of saliva that stayed behind. He had to know the effect he was having on me with only a few words.

I wore my arousal on my face like a badge, flushing like a kid who had never talked to a pretty girl before. Or in this case, a hot guy. Raymond wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what he did to me and what he did to everyone with the inclination to look at him twice. But the steadiness in his gaze made it clear he didn’t mind.

I couldn’t believe it.
Bi-curious.

“Sounds like a good setup.” I dragged my fingers over the floorboards. My fingertips rubbed against deep ruts and the thinner, more deliberate scratches of someone carving their name into the wood. “Maybe she was waiting for you to make it official instead of a casual thing.”

“Nah.” The moment broke with a simple, sardonic syllable. “I was a good fuck, but I’m not official material. She got herself a real grown-up man with a real grown-up job. Good for the long term. If she comes back to me, it will only be so I can make her squirt.”

“That is
so
pessimistic. You are morose today.”

“I’m being realistic,” he replied with a shrug. “I know what I’m good for, and I know what I can offer. Not much.”

I wanted to argue, but I always hesitated when it came to Raymond. Once, when his brother had been spiraling from grief after the death of their father, I’d tried to be supportive, and Michael had told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way I could understand how he felt. There was no way I could relate to him or find the right thing to say. Swallowing the reality of that statement had burned down my throat, and I always remembered it at times like this.

What did I know about either of their pasts? Why they felt the way they did about certain things? Not much. Especially Raymond, who didn’t even realize how guarded he could be. If he decided that something wasn’t worth talking about, he cast it away into an abyss with the rest of his undiscussed feelings.

So I shook my head and tried to figure out the patterns of the scratches so I could make out the name. That was better than looking into his eyes without the courage to argue what he was saying.